The Women
by pseudonymitous
Summary: One-shots about the women in Auggie Anderson's life, past and present. *UPDATED* Latest chapter: Natasha
1. Hayley

August Anderson disliked the word "girlfriend." He regarded monogamy as the blue plate special on the vast and exciting menu that was the DC dating scene. Why bother? Why worry? After all that had gone down with Annie, he was up for a little bit of fun. A little regret felt good in his masochistic bones- it heated up the marrow and filled him with frenetic energy. It drove him to be better, in work and play. Some men would consider this to be a weakness, but Auggie was too far gone to start backtracking now. He had serenity enough to accept the things he couldn't change.

The whole thing with Annie had been a mistake. When Auggie was in high school, he'd opted to ask out a cheerleader named Molly- a friend of his. To his great surprise, Molly turned him down on the spot. Her reasoning? "I don't want to compromise our friendship." Auggie had hated her reasoning, but it aged well. It was true. Dating your friends can really turn things to shit. That's why he was determined not to allow the amount of garbage that went down bar him from being close with Annie again. It was no big deal. He wanted to be close to her more than he wanted to be on top of her. Simple as that.

That was why he was taking shots at a swanky uptown bar instead of Allen's tonight. He hadn't been to Allen's since Annie went off the grid- before that, even. He wasn't that same guy anymore, and Annie wasn't that same girl. There was too much familiarity and too many memories involved for him to go home with a stranger without feeling dirty. Anyway, all the girls there knew his gimmick by now. He was the blind guy who didn't call.

This new place was nice, a recommendation from the perpetually-superior Calder. Louder music, cramped layout, crowded bar. Precisely Calder's scene. The sheriff of Medellin liked to whet his whistle, fire a warning shot, and leave. Auggie preferred an abridged version, but they were on the same page. The women, beer, and tequila were all that mattered.

Tonight, however, he found himself sharing a shot with one Hayley Price.

"Beer? I guess you're not as smart as you look." she commented after draining her shot.

"Pardon?" Auggie's brow furrowed.

"Beer before liquor, never been sicker," she said matter-of-factly.

"Don't worry," Auggie said wryly, holding up his now-empty shot glass. "This isn't the first shot I've fired. I'm in the clear."

Maybe it was the tequila, but the next thing he knew, they were back at his place. At first, his head wasn't in it, but the more she committed to the bit, the more he invested. She was smart. She was assertive. She was kind of a brat, in a way he wasn't used to. As much as she'd flirted, Auggie had no indication that she genuinely liked him. That was fine. He didn't particularly like himself either.

Taking up with Hayley wasn't as difficult as he'd expected. She knew how to assist, how to let him lead, when to let him lead, and when to take the initiative. But the more he worked with Annie, the more he sensed a jealous streak. It was out of the blue and frankly, it was a little worrisome. They were just having fun. Weren't they?

But he never thought her jealousy would take her to these lengths. Not with Tash, not with Annie. Not in a million years.


	2. Marlo

Auggie had started taking martial arts classes to ground his thoughts, hone his focus, and expel some of that pesky frenetic energy. He stayed for Marlo.

As absolutely terrible as it sounded, Auggie didn't find her particularly spectacular. She was nice, she was obviously fit, but she had the angle and attitude of a groupie. Even still, she was nothing if not persistent. After weeks of requesting he put in extra time to practice his moves, he finally caved.

They went to the same mats where he and Annie used to spar, and she went easy on him. Way easy. So much so that if he didn't know she was a CIA-certified judo instructor, he would've dropped the class then and there.

"Curve the elbow at a 90-degree angle, and then go out another 45-degrees," she said, adjusting his arm a bit. "And that's a block."

"So hit me," Auggie dared.

Her laugh was tinny. She thought he was kidding. "I'm not going to hit you."

"I thought we were here to practice moves," he retorted. "What, are you chicken?"

She was quiet for a moment. He could practically feel her regretting this, right in front of him.

"Just call your shot," he elaborated. "On my left, or whatever."

"Fine. On your left."

And then she clocked him. Just knocked the shit out of him. He felt her foot connect with the soft point under his floating rib, hit his not-at-all-braced obliques, and leave him doubled over in pain.

"I am so fucking sorry," she said from behind the hand that covered her mouth in horror.

Auggie coughed, chuckled, and slowly stood. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Scouts' honor."

Her hand touched his arm, ran the length of his humerus and settled on his shoulder. He reciprocated, running his hand from hers to her shoulder.

"I think that's enough for today," she said quietly. "You like beer?"

Annie was back. It was clear that they weren't involved. He was a free agent, and this chick had been begging to pick him up off the waiver wire for weeks.

Auggie decided it would be better to call a cab. He didn't want to take the private car service for this sort of social call, and they couldn't fool around in the backseat if Marlo was supposed to be driving.

They skipped the bar and went straight back to Marlo's place in Wolf Trap. Auggie showed Marlo how much he liked beer, among other things, called another ordinary cab, and slept the night in his own bed.

The next week in class, Marlo spoke only when spoken to. Auggie wondered if it was because he didn't call. He wondered if she'd really liked him. He wondered if he hurt her.

Then Eric Barber popped into his office, and put all his curiosity at ease.

"I met a girl."

The scent of calzones mingled with Barber's usual cologne.

"Does this girl have a name?" Auggie asked, slipping off his headphones.

"Marlo Mulcahy," Barber pronounced, as if it was something precious.

"Tell me about her," Auggie swallowed the lead in his gut.

"Fitness instructor for the agency, so you know she's smokin' hot," Barber mused. "Redhead. You remember redheads?"

"Vaguely."

"Spicy, spicy stuff," Eric double-tapped the desk. "Seein' her again on Saturday. Good thing I cut back on the munchies, eh?"

Auggie smiled and nodded. Thus ended the ballad of Marlo Mulcahy.


	3. Helen

Auggie had dropped his glasses. It was probably four in the morning, and the only light in the hotel room came from the alarm clocks and the laptop where he was recording the day's session with Teo Braga. He'd taken his glasses off to massage the bridge of his nose, turned, and knocked them clear off the table with his elbow. He had no way of finding them, and he was afraid to stand for fear of stepping on the frames.

"Helen," he whispered.

His wife stirred. "What's up?"

"I dropped my glasses."

She chuckled softly, turning on her bedside lamp and slowly making her way across the room. She stooped to grab them about six feet away from where he was sitting, and gently cleaned the lenses on her night shirt before returning them to her husband's face.

"Where would I be without you?" he quipped, as the room came into focus.

"Groping around aimlessly in the dark, I suppose," she said, depositing a kiss on his forehead before slipping back under the covers and turning off the light once more.

Auggie hardly ever sought memories of Helen. Rather, they found him. They always accosted his psyche when he was supposed to be doing something else, and they brought their friends. His most vivid memory of Helen was the one of them at the Trevi fountain. Or the mental image of her in the short white cocktail dress she wore when they said their vows. But those were never the ones that came to him out of the blue.

Desperately as he wished she'd never done so, she returned to his life post-mortem. These memories weren't accompanied by painful images, thank God. But the feel of her waistband at his fingertips, the sound of her voice as she told him off, the sinking feeling in his stomach when Annie learned of their tryst... these were more vivid than any of the happy memories, by far.

No matter how hard he tried to put her behind him, he could never forget her. As he soldiered on, he fulfilled her prophecy. Just a jilted widower, groping around aimlessly in the dark.


	4. Liza

It was just a transaction. They were both in agreement. Auggie was going through some stuff, some presumed-single stuff, and she was just there, ready to throw herself at the mercy of the CIA under the guise of exposing it. She loved Allen's because it was a "spook hangout," and he loved Allen's because it was familiar and he didn't need a cane to navigate it. For some reason, they were never nabbed when they hung out there. The place was so unbelievably don't-ask-don't-tell that it was months before he was so much as questioned about the series of leaks.

She said outright that she didn't like him. She made cracks about his hair, his posture, his habits. But underneath her mean words was a daddy-love-me desperation. They consistently said it wasn't personal, it was just the deed, no strings attached. And yet he knew that her full name was Alize, not Elizabeth. He knew that her mother picked it, that Liza was half-Jewish on her mother's side. Her father was Irish, but he died when she was 13. She came around a lot, under the guise of a booty call, but she spent the night and often cooked him breakfast. She claimed to be pumping him for information and he claimed to be working an angle and yet they found themselves kissing and talking a lot more than anything else.

He wasn't one for talking about himself- his life was easier that way. But he had to admit that he didn't mind when Liza did. Even when she wasn't talking (if he ever asked a direct question, she shut him down), she disclosed more than she knew. He could read her like a book. Liza Hearn was a stone-cold journalist, and she was the only daughter of Rahel and Dick Hearn, and she hadn't had a boyfriend in five years, and when she came over she used his toothbrush, and he pretended not to notice, and breaking up with her was one of the worst things that ever happened to him on a barstool, not counting the time in college when he knocked out three teeth drinking an offensively-named Irish Car Bomb on St. Patrick's Day.

And that was the end of that.


	5. Joan

Joan Campbell was Auggie's first crush at the CIA.

He was 22, fresh off the farm, and exhausted from the morning's round of entrance polygraphs. He was joined in the elevator by a tall, thin blonde. Her light blonde hair brushed the small of her back, and the freckles on her tanned nose indicated that she was just in from someplace hotter than Virginia. She pressed the button for the fourth floor and stood at perfect attention, a classified file folder tucked under her arm.

"Going up?" Auggie asked, in a weird and desperate attempt at small talk.

"Classified," she said with a hint of a smirk. She couldn't be older than 26. "You look new. What's your name?"

"Classified," Auggie retorted.

"Atta way, kid. Keep it close to the vest," the blonde said. She extended a slender, perfectly manicured hand in his direction. "Joan McKenzie."

"August Anderson," he said, trying to come off as grown-up and manly as possible.

The doors opened with a ding, and Joan McKenzie exited the elevator with a swish of her hips and without another word. Auggie didn't see her again for a year and a half, when they were assigned to the same department.

It was a casual friendship, with the two of them constantly out on assignment. Their paths often crossed in the gym, or the coffee stand, and over time Auggie felt they got to know one another well. He learned that Joan was a natural introvert, that she graduated magna cum laude, that she wasn't happy with her seven minute mile. They talked about the things that were important to them- not always the details, but the broader values and experiences. Over time, she climbed higher up the corporate ladder, until she outranked him by quite a bit. The office gossip was that she was screwing the boss, but Joan always kept mum on her personal life and Auggie respected that. Auggie kept mum on his marriage, on the gap in his record, and Joan respected that too.

When he told her he was headed to Iraq, Joan hugged him for the first time. Technically speaking, he'd never see her again.

And when he returned, a bitter and impossible husk of himself, Joan demanded the agency keep him assigned to her department. She patiently waited for him to adjust to his new technology, encouraged him to be his best, threatened to sue the agency if they dropped him, in spite of his questionable and often reckless coping mechanisms. Through everything, Joan McKenzie Campbell had his back, even when they disagreed. Even when he insisted otherwise. Even when he blatantly defied her.

Joan Campbell would always have his back.

Wouldn't she?


	6. Suzanne

If Auggie had his little way, he and Suzanne would never have met. Auggie was not the kind of person who enjoyed being told what to do- four older brothers had beaten the submissive spirit out of him, hence his decision to go into special ops. More autonomy, more free thought. But sometimes in life, the only choice is no choice. When a federal agent cracks a civilian over the head with a beer bottle, the freedom to choose tends to be replaced with the necessity to save face. Arthur Campbell knew the worst punishment Auggie could endure, besides demotion, was being forced to talk about his feelings with a stranger.

Right away, he could tell she was hot. Her office smelled of fresh-cut flowers, and her hand was soft when he went to shake it. He could hear bracelets and high heels as she moved about the room, and at one point caught a whiff of a Vogue magazine and all its perfume samples. But being hot wouldn't save her. Her "cool mom" act wouldn't save her. Frankly, nothing would save her. Auggie hadn't been to therapy since his accident, and it was not his cup of tea. In fact, he could safely say that he didn't believe in it. He didn't need some strawberry-scented Barbie doll asking a million questions and telling him what to feel.

He was even more pissed when she backtracked- her initial promise to let him come and go as he chose was nullified by her shrill tone when he suggested taking session outside.

After their little cane experiment, he did some opening up. It felt about right, considering the vulnerable position he'd only just put her in. He bade her farewell at the door to her office, with the satisfaction that she'd broken through. He had to admit, she was beginning to take his mind off of Parker.

He downed his third beer at Allen's that night, alone as per usual. Annie Walker was off galavanting with no time for spirits and conversation, and he was dealing with it. Even still, when he felt a hand on his shoulder, he let himself believe it might be her.

"Auggie." It was Suzanne's hand, Suzanne's voice, Suzanne pulling up a chair.

That night, it was Suzanne's hair, Suzanne's neck, Suzanne's pointy heels obstructing his path to the bathroom.

After that, it was Suzanne's voice on his answering machine, informing him that she'd signed his therapy completion certificate. She couldn't see him anymore, but she wished him the best.

Auggie was glad he wouldn't have to attend therapy anymore, but there was a pang of guilt attached. Her whole job was to see through the bull to the underlying cause, to cut through the crap and sense the unspoken emotions. He'd blindfolded her in more ways than one.


	7. Parker

Parker Rowland. What was there to say about Parker that hadn't already been said? Every channel and avenue of their relationship had been explored to the max, analyzed to the hilt. They rushed into things. They didn't reciprocate basic honesty. They were selfish. He was selfish. A deeper analysis would probably reveal that Parker was just a figment, a symbol, a piece of his former life... something like that.

Auggie wasn't interested in analyzing. He was interested in moving forward. He was interested in the now.

Then he tripped.

It wasn't a little tumble, either. This was a full-blown, all-four-limbs-in-the-air, Chevy Chase meets Cosmo Kramer, America's Funniest Home Videos dust-biter. It caught him so off guard that he just lay there a second, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. Falling in total darkness was incredibly bizarre. For one thing, the lack of visual warning saved the stomach-drop feeling for the last possible second. It also made it that much weirder once you landed, feeling pain but having no real concept of its source. When Auggie was little, his cousin was married in a baptist church. While their parents chatted after the ceremony, the young Anderson boys decided to play hide and go seek. Auggie decided the empty baptism tub was as good a place as any, but couldn't remove the hard shell covering. When he went to sneak behind the tub, he found himself rolling down a flight of steps in total darkness. It was so sudden and jarring an accident that he remembered it was a full minute before he shed a single tear. All he knew was confusion and pain, without context.

Auggie knelt on the floor of his closet, and felt around for the thing that tripped him. This almost never happened in his own home. It almost never happened anywhere, at least not in the last few years. Everything was always so organized. His hand landed on something soft and gauzy.

Oh. Hello.

He ran the soft, gauzy thing between his fingers until he ascertained that it was a pair of pantyhose. What were pantyhose doing on the floor of his-

Oh.

Auggie sat back against the built-in shelving, wincing at the pain in his knee. He hadn't tripped, he'd slipped. On Parker's pantyhose. They must have been sitting on his floor for weeks, probably moved into the main walking path the last time he Swiffered the hardwood. It should've been no big deal, but this incident was Parker herself.

In a world tailor-made for him, this pantyhose put him in his place and reminded him of what he was. Who he was. What he lacked. A lack of mutual communication landed him flat on his face. And if that didn't sum it all up with Parker, nothing did.


	8. Hillary

When Auggie first moved into his apartment, he paid his rent to an older man by the name of Harry Shulman. Harry was a nice guy in his late seventies who smelled like cigarette smoke, and whose nose whistled when he inhaled. Over time, he and Auggie struck up a good rapport. Then he retired, leaving his daughter in charge of the building. Apparently, there had been a lot of notice prior to the final phone call from Harry, who took an entire month to realize Auggie wasn't seeing the fluorescent notices in his mail. Either way, her name was Hillary, and Harry encouraged Auggie to pop down to the apartment and meet her. He might like her.

Auggie arrived the way he arrived on most girls' doorsteps: with his tie loosened and a bottle of wine in his hand.

"Can I help you?" a smoky voice asked from the other side of the door.

"Auggie Anderson," he said with a friendly smile. "I live upstairs, and I thought I'd bring you a little housewarming gift."

"Not **the **Auggie Anderson," she deadpanned, with a touch of a laugh in her voice. The door slid open a little further. "Come on in, let's crack this sucker open."

He followed her to the kitchen, grateful he was already familiar with the layout of the apartment.

"I'm just looking for a corkscrew," she helpfully announced, rummaging through the kitchen drawers. "I just finished unpacking, and everything's still pretty wonky."

They spent the next hour on her sofa draining a bottle of wine while Norah Jones played in the background. He learned that Hillary was 44, recently divorced, no kids. She worked as an advertising executive in New York up until three years prior, when her husband took a job in Baltimore and convinced her it was time to have a baby. She endured round after round of fertility treatments until their marriage was so hostile that not even a baby would fix things. When her father announced his retirement, she decided to finalize the divorce and start fresh. And here she was.

He also learned that Hillary was a great kisser. She had an aggressive, talented Mrs. Robinson kind of thing going on.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" she asked when they were done with the wine and a few other things. "Force of habit."

"Go for it," Auggie said.

She moved over to the window and cracked it open, letting in the sounds of the city. "This was fun."

"That it was," he said with an insuppressible grin.

And that was all it was. Harmless, occasional fun. She wasn't jealous, wasn't possessive, and had spent so much time trapped in a monogamous hell that she wasn't that anymore, either. Her father had asked her to keep an eye on him, and she would, and she did. Regardless of how much she actually knew about him or his life.


	9. Louise

"I'd lend you my study guide, but it's in Braille."

What a charming pile of crap that was, charming enough to ensure an informal introduction (first names only, last names irrelevant) and a ride home. All Auggie actually knew about "Louise" was that she was pre-law, probably Irish, possibly a runner, and definitely too young for him. Oh, that and she was a terrible driver.

Auggie would be the first to admit that he missed driving. He was absolutely the kind of guy who spent his Sunday afternoons with the Barrett-Jackson auctions on in the background, the kind who felt compelled to keep up with automotive statistics and trivia in spite of the fact that he would never purchase another car. Like most men, he got off on the control of it all. Which is why this chick, in her bucket-seat VW bug (no other car sat so fucking low while also being sardine-level cramped from end to end) was pissing him off. She clearly wasn't used to the flow of DC traffic, or the concept of gently laying off the clutch, or driving over 15 miles per hour.

By the time they got back to his place in Adams Morgan, Auggie was so grateful to be alive that he wasn't even in the mood.

He and Louise made out for awhile, enough that he was starting to get into it, when she gently pushed him away.

"What is it?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

"I just got out of a relationship," she said, breathlessly. "I don't think I'm ready to enter into something new right now."

Auggie sat back on the couch, cleared his throat. "Okay."

"It's not personal," she clarified.

"No worries," Auggie whispered. "Call me Mr. Casual."

He went back in for the kill, but she barely let him kiss her once before pulling away. "Wait. What do you mean?"

"I mean, we're in my apartment... casually..." he hoped she would fill in the blanks.

"Wait, is this a one-night stand?" her voice took on an irritated tone.

"I honestly don't know how to respond to that," Auggie said blankly.

"What kind of girl do you think I am?!" Louise snapped, standing and grabbing her purse.

Auggie remembered what Annie and Conrad had mentioned about Louise at the bar... He didn't even think about this girl being religious. This had been a serious miscalculation.

"Look, Louise, right?" Auggie began.

"Don't," she snapped. "Have a great life."

And with that, she was out the door.


	10. Franka

Stewardesses were a dime a dozen, but Franka was something else. It wasn't often that Auggie allowed the Mile High Club to join him on solid ground; in fact, Franka was the first. Halfway through the flight to Istanbul, the man in the window seat beside him fell into a coma-quality sleep, and Franka crept up and sat in the empty aisle seat to his right.

"It's me," she whispered, touching his arm as she took a seat. "I brought snacks."

She shared two bags of party mix, a tiny bottle of rum, two plastic cups, and several hours' worth of engaging conversation. Later, she snuck him into "the lav," where they made out like a couple of teenagers.

"Don't you have work to do?" he asked, nuzzling her neck.

"Probably," she whispered. "Who cares?"

For the first time in a long time, Auggie actually waited for assistance after the flight. He hadn't flown alone in awhile and no matter what a pain in the ass the assistance was, it was just too much of a pain to stumble forward with the herd. This time, it was Franka offering the assistance, and he found he didn't mind quite so much.

"Your hotel room or mine?" she asked as they stepped into the airport and walked arm-in-arm toward baggage claim.

"Whatever's closer," he responded.

She was a surprisingly good sport about jazz, though that wasn't her original plan for her time in Istanbul.

"You've been here before, I assume?" she asked, popping a bite of simit into her mouth.

"Oh, yeah," he said, reclining slightly against a pile of pillows. "This is my city."

Franka laughed. "Your city?"

"I know this place inside and out, and I am here for the jazz."

"Well, I made plans to meet a friend and her husband for coffee," she said, rising and opening her suitcase. "You go nerd out at the festival, and I'll meet you back here a little later."

They went their separate ways in style. Auggie loved Istanbul- he'd visited or resided in countless cities over the past fifteen years, but this place had his heart. Ten years ago, it was the sights. Today, it was the sounds.

He'd never intended to bring a beautiful stranger into the most personal mission of his career, but there they were. Franka had returned to the hotel in search of a little afternoon delight, and she'd saddled herself with a man hellbent on avenging everything that once mattered most to him. She was intelligent. She knew there were things he wouldn't... couldn't tell her. She gathered that he wasn't a music journalist. And to her credit, she ran with it. This stranger gave up her weekend in Istanbul to be his eyes on a dangerous mission for which she would receive neither credit nor thanks.

And when the weekend was over, she parted ways as amicably as anyone in her position possibly could. But she knew he'd never call, and he knew she wouldn't want him to. She was sexy, brilliant and selfless in a way he once thought he'd never find. But this wasn't her battle. She deserved better than the spy life and, he realized with a sinking feeling, she deserved better than Auggie Anderson.


	11. Natasha

_Hey, y'all! First update in awhile. It's a little clunky, but hopefully it hits the spot. Thanks for your continued support! I'm trying to keep this one going, even though we haven't had the show in far too long... xo P_

* * *

Auggie had never been one for love at first sight. Lust at first sight? Absolutely. Hell, he'd even concede to "like" at first sight, with the right couple, but it wasn't possible to love someone that quickly. Human beings weren't built for it. Everyone had their four-drink rant, and that was his. Rather than raving about atheism or the Mets or that ridiculous Berenstain/stein Bears conspiracy, Auggie liked to corner otherwise polite people at house parties and subject them to his thoughts on the biology of attraction. It was a real fuckin' hoot.

That's why, when he saw her in that Adams Morgan laundromat, he had to open a thesaurus and find a synonym. He settled on "mystified." He laid eyes on the girl reading Snow Crash, lit by the nasty flourescents and the dust swirling in the sunset through the big front window, and he was mystified at first sight. She had a little stud in her nose and a small strip of blue in her hair- both typically passe, adolescent style choices, but on her they looked like hot, primal anarchy. She wasn't wearing a bra, either, which helped her case, but his mind wasn't there. It wasn't lust, it was fascination. When he realized she was his mark... well... what a plus.

He seduced her quicker than intended. He wanted to prove to himself that this wasn't about sex, and she at first seemed determined to do the opposite. With so many girls, sex diminished the mystery. With Natasha, the fascination only deepened. She was so wild, so untouched by rules or laws that she reminded him of Julia from _1984_.Except, at the end of their rebellion, he was the one who'd report back to Big Brother.

It made sense that they'd reunite with a slap. It made a lot of sense that she would doubt his injury. It made the most sense that she'd flee the country and drag him back down with her. She'd quickly gone from a mean, mystical unicorn to an object of his frustration, a piece of his consciousness, a difficult fever to sweat out. She made him want to be a better, purer person. She made him want to be a harder, stronger, crueller person. The point was that she made him, and that was the beginning and the end of it.

The past few years with Tash read like a reverse self-help book: _How To Fuck Up A Friendship Without Really Trying. The Art of the Dealbreaker. Who Moved My Commitment Issues? _He cheated on and with her, hid her out, ratted her out, and ran her ragged. He beat her already guarded emotions to a pulp and always managed to convince himself that he deserved another chance. Why? Because she was a bad person, that's why. If that's what needed to be true, then that's what he'd tell himself, her feelings be damned.

And here he was again, a man unemployed, a man against the world. He wasn't Winston Smith anymore, and she wasn't Julia. They'd broken out and they could do and be and think whatever they wanted. It could be like this forever, if they wanted it to.

Auggie wasn't sure what he wanted. All he knew was that he'd lost his sight. If he lost the mystification... well, he didn't know what he'd do.


End file.
